The Fast That Found Me: A journey for him, through me, with God’s Hand

This evening, I started my prayer standing up. But somewhere in the middle of it, the weight hit me. It wasn’t loud. It was just heavy. A quiet wave of weakness that washed over me until I couldn’t ignore it anymore. My words slowed. My shoulders dropped. And I sank to the floor. Not out of routine. Not out of performance. But because I needed to bow. I needed to humble myself fully and pour my heart out at His feet. I felt weak- deeply weak- and I didn’t want to pretend otherwise. From the floor I cried out. “Am I fasting right?” Am I fasting the right way?” I feel like I’m trying and trying and trying- and I’m not seeing anything. And I know in previous chapters I said that just because we don’t see anything doesn’t mean nothing is happening. But in that moment? All the journal entries I wrote. Everything I believed. Everything I declared. It all went out the window. I keep going back to Hebrews 11:1- “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” But right now, I don’t see much of anything. This fast is hard. It might be the hardest fast I’ve ever done. Maybe because I’m fasting at a time when I already feel depleted. I’m fasting without a job. My money is limited. I’m waiting on answers that don’t seem to be coming. It feels like I’m pouring out when I don’t even feel full. I laid on the floor for a while, staring at the ceiling, No lightning bolt. No audible voice. Just silence and the sound of my own breathing. And while I was laying there, another thought crossed my mind. When do people fast? When did Jesus tell us to fast? Was it when everything was fine? When prayers felt light and easy? Or was it in moments of desperation- when something needed to shift, when something needed to break? Jesus didn’t say If you fast, He said,” When you fast…” (Matthew 6:16). Fasting wasn’t presented as a last resort. It was assumed as part of devotion. Fasting isn’t about prayer being powerless. It’s about posture. It’s about humbling yourself. About seeking God more intentionally. About quieting everything else so you can Hear Him clearly. People don’t fast because they’re comfortable. They fast because they’re hungry for God to move. I am in a season where I need God to move. Not because prayer is weak. Not because fasting guarantees outcomes. But because I am aware of my need. I need clarity, provision, direction, and alignment. And somewhere in that honesty, something shifted. Not instantly. Just enough. Not a surge of strength. Not a wave of emotion. Just enough to resolve to move. Enough for me to get up. So, I did. I got off the floor and began anointing every room in the apartment again. I walked slowly and intentionally. I anointed doors. I anointed myself and my son. I wasn’t going to let heaviness sit there unchecked. If I opened any doors unknowingly, I was closing it. If anything lingered, it had to go. I wasn’t leaving space for despair to settle. And then my dad called. “Don’t you ever be ashamed to ask me and your mom for money,” he said. “We are here to help you. Everybody has their setbacks.” He reminded me that losing my job wasn’t my fault. He asked what needed to be paid. He reminded me not to miss car payments because of my credit and security clearance. He even asked if we had enough food. Again, he reiterated, “We got you.” When I got off the phone, I went back to my room and fell to my knees again. This time, not from weakness. From gratitude.